


Smaug-Not-Smaug

by SherlockDreadsNaught



Category: Smauglock - Fandom, The Hobbit (Jackson Movies)
Genre: Desolation of Smaug, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-02-06
Updated: 2014-02-13
Packaged: 2018-01-10 10:25:46
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 11,430
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1158537
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SherlockDreadsNaught/pseuds/SherlockDreadsNaught
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bilbo Baggins has entered the great vault of Erebor and has awakened Smaug the Terrible.  But what's this? Smaug needs to ask a favor of our Hobbit??</p><p>*     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Smaug

**Author's Note:**

> This story has been churning in the back of my mind ever since my roomie and fellow fic writer, jawnslullabye21, had an email exchange in which we were basically taking turns writing bits of a story. It was a story about Smaug, and Bilbo, and Thorin, and Kili. Without thinking, about a week later I deleted the emails, only to realize I could have cobbled together a story from them. This fanfic is at least roughly the idea from those emails, fleshed out of course. I have no idea where this one is going to take me. When it flows, it seems to have a life of its own. Hopefully I have a few brain cells that are committing themselves to figuring out the plot...

The huge chamber echoed every sound of every sliding gold coin, to the point that Blibo just wanted to cover his ears and scream for it to stop. Every step he took seemed to cause an avalanche of gold.  Every time he tried to change direction, he found himself slipping and sliding on the coins, on gems, on goblets and vases of gold, on trinkets and mugs, all gold, gold, gold!  When did his eyes not see the gleam of gold?  Taking a deep breath, he dove behind one of the huge stone colums the supported the very distant apex of the cavernous vault. More noise, more echoes, more gold sliding and casading as the dune he was on shifted to accomodate him.  As the shifting and sifting slowed, he held his breath and listened.  Relative silence, or as silent as it could be with the echo slowly growing more faint.  Stay here, don't move, and maybe that monsterous beast would lose interest or perhaps it would even think he had escaped.

Minutes passed, dragged into an hour, and he began to think that yes, he could indeed sneak down the dune of gold he was perched on, and carefully pick a path to the steps that led to the outside world.  Carefully, so carefully Bilbo lifted one foot. No movement of the gold, that was good! Ever so gently he set his foot down again and was able to do so without causing a shift in the coins.

A deep rumble formed on the opposite side of the vast chamber, something Bilbo felt before he heard it. "Wheeerrree....aaarrree....yoouuu, myyy littllleee hobbbitt?"  There a rustling sound, if indeed rustling was a word that could apply to this particular noise.  It seemed to be the lightly crackling rush of thousands of scales as a dragon the height of ten trees began to move, undulating it's ever-so long tail in the process.  "Pleeasse come ouutt ssoo I ccann ssee yyoouu!" The deep, rich voice often seemed to draw out the words or certain sounds, sometimes the words took on a hissing sound, a hiss with a very deep rumble.

Bilbo froze in his tracks, not daring to breathe.  He remembered the words of his Dwarf friends in describing the beast he sought to escape just now. Airborne fire-breather, teeth like razors, claws like meathooks. Oh yes, this monsterous beast was all that and more! He was sly, cunning, and clever.  And at the moment seemed incredibly persistent in wanting to see and talk to him!  Talk to him? In a warg's eye, the beast probably wanted to incinerate him, turn him instantly and blindingly into ash!  Bilbo swallowed hard, took a deep breath and then pounced onto a large, oval platter made of course of gold, hoping it would be a quick toboggan ride down from the crest, and he'd be that much closer to...

"Aaaaaaaaahhhhhhhhh, tthhere yyoou aarre, liittlee onne!!"  A scaled leg as large as the largest tree Bilbo had ever seen suddenly was blocking his path. To avoid a terrible collision, he rolled to his left off of the tray, and tried to keep sliding down the dune.  Smaug spotted him, Bilbo could tell be the exhalation of the dragon's breath that he had been seen. What was he to do?  His insides seemed to seize up and he found it impossible to breathe, he could only gasp in and out the tiniest of pantings, despite the exertion of trying to manuever through the roiling golden sea.  Any second, any second now, Bilbo was certain he'd feel a ghastly sear of pain and see an explosive whiteness and that would be the end of him.  "Wwhhyy arrre yyou rrunninngg ffrromm mmee? Iii jjusstt neeedd to ttallkk ttoo yyoouu!  Pppleeeaassssssssee!" The last word was more a shushing murmur and abruptly Bilbo's trek through the gold came to a halt, and he found himself peering into a very large, very reptilian eye.

"I'm warning you, my friends will come looking for me! They are waiting for me, with a huge, huge army behind them!"  Bilbo made his words as loud as he could, hoping he would sound brave and confident.  Instead, he imagined he sounded panicked and breathless, but he stood his ground nonethless.

"AAnn aarrmyy?? Lliittlee oonne, Iii fffeearr nnoo armyyy, not in TTHHIISSS fform, dddearrr Hhobbiit!"  Smaug the Terrible blinked slowly, and for a twinkling, Bilbo thought he saw a tear in that glittering eye.  No, it couldn't have been a tear, it was more like the gleaming of the many gold coins laying all about.

Stuffing his hands into his vest pockets to prevent them from shaking, Bilbo cleared his throat and jutted his chin out. "You fear no army? Ha! And you call yourself wise? Why, no beast can face the great army that awaits my return, dragon!!"

Again, the great eye regarding the diminuative Hobbit blinked, and a great snort of steam and smoke belched from Smaug's nose.  "As yyoouu wwish, Hhhobbit, as yyoouu wwwishh." The head lifted a moment, as if he was sniffing the air or lsitening, then it dropped back beside the still-trembling Hobbit.  "Andd I sshhall aallow yyoouu to returnn to yyour ffrriends and theiirr....aaarrmyy."

"Good, yes then very good. Please allow me to pass, and I shall leave you in peace. No one will bother you."  Bilbo moved as if to make his way around the great head and clawed leg in his path, but instead of being allowed to move, he found himself trapped by one huge, clawed foot. "Excuse me, you said you would let me go, so kindly release me and I shall be on my way!"  He stood very straight, with a determined look on his face, but inside he felt anything but determined--he felt terrified. The large claw was making a cage of sorts around him, and though carefully not touching him, that clawed cage did not give him much room to move!

"In dduuee ttiime, Hhobbiit. FFiirsstt, I mmust aask a ssmall ffavvor of yyoouu.  A veryy ttiiinyy, ssmaalll favor. Itt wwon't ttaake yyouu more tthann a sssecconnd, bbut I shall bbe foreverr grateful....."  The booming voice trailed off, and there was a great gusty intake of breath.  ""You ssseee, I amm nnott bborn to tthis form, little onne.   Lloonngg aaggoo, an eevviil encroachedd uponn ourr llandss, aand mmyy ffamilyy wwass a tarrgett for the wrrathh beingg broughtt to harrrm ourr peeople.  Ourr wwarrirors tried to protectt us, bbutt thee evil was tooo strongg, evenn ouir strongestt warrriors couldd not stop the terrorr, the deathh, the flamesss!!  To ssave mmyy family, I ffaced tthe eevviill mmyself. Aand....tthe evil did thisss tto mmee."

Bilbo blinked uncomprehendingly.  "Did this to you?  Did what to you? Do you mean...THIS??  Turned you into a DRAGON?" He shook his head, trying to wrap his wits around the story. "An evil attacked your lands, attacked you and your family," he ticked off the points on his fingers, "your warriors couldn'd defeat them, so you thought it would be a good idea to try to face this...this thing yourself??  Well, sir, you really should have given it some thought, how could YOU face something your army couldn'd fight?"

"It wwaass a chance ssomeone had to take," came the whispered reply, if indeed a beast that gigantic could whisper. It actually sounded more like the hissing of a campfire that had only been half doused with water.

"Hmmm...I see. That was either very brave, or very, very foolhardy!!"

"Indeed, it wwaass," came the dragonly soft response.

"Now what exactly is this favor you mentioned?" Again, Bilbo stuffed his hands into his vest pockets, and he tried to get a good look at his captor, peering through the large clawed toes that were wrapped loosely around him.  What could he possibly do for a dragon?  Why, he'd be no more than a crumb to the great beast if those jaws were to clamp down on him, so hopefully any favor didn't include anything along the lines being his dinner.  "I am listening, Mr. Smaug!"

"I needdd youu to kissssss me!"


	2. A Favor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Smaug asked a favor, but will Bilbo agree to it?
> 
> * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

"I needdd youu to kissssss me!"

Those hissingly astounding words rang over and over in Bilbo's head as he squeezed his eyes shut and shook his head.  He felt as if the air had been knocked out of his lungs by an invisible fist, and he doubled over, one hand braced on a huge claw for support in case his knees folded out from under him.  And it did seem very likely that he would continue to crumple, even if he could make some sense out of what Smaug had called a small favor. Him, a Hobbit from the Shire,who enjoyed his food and his bed and his books, was being asked by a dragon for a kiss. He was being asked to KISS a dragon. Not just any dragon, but the one often referred to by his Dwarvish friends as Smaug the Terrible.  Smaug who could incinerate him with but one tiny puff of his dragon's fire.  Oh how Bilbo wished he had Gandalf nearby, so he could ask him if he had ever heard of some great evil laying seige to a family and one of the sons trying to take on the evil and...oh, what was he to do, what in Middle Earth was he to do?  A sudden jolt hit him when he allowed his mind to toy with refusing the favor.  Refusal might get him instantly incincerated or maybe even...eaten!!

"Hobbit?  Did you hearrr me???" One great amber-colored eye peered at him through the curved claw that served as Bilbo's cage.  "I needdd youu to kissssss me!"

"A minute please!!" Bilbo managed to squeak out, still not feeling any air in his lungs.  He pursed his lips, grimaced and tried to inhale. Well, that wasn't much help because his lungs still weren't cooperating, and now he was feeling quite like he was about to faint.  That wouldn't do, no sir, if he fainted what was to prevent his incineration on the spot? He tried to speak again but all that issued from his lips were various eeks, squeaks and exhalations.  "Mmmmm....ahhh.....mmmmm...."  Well, that certainly made no sense, nor did it help him feel any stronger or braver. Finally he was able to draw a real breath. "Me?  Kiss?? YOU???"

"Yessssss!"  Smaug settled himself down more so he could easily look upon the Hobbit that was within his grasp. "The evilll one sssaid that tthooough mmmany might commme to me, and alll would fear mmme, my heart would knnnnow the truthhhhh."  He sounded for all the world like a set of talking bellows, but it seemed the longer he talked to Bilbo, the more melancholy his great voice became.  Again, a glitter almost like a tear shimmered across the great amber eye that was looking at his tiny captive.

"The truth.  The truth? And what truth would that be?"  Bilbo was finally able to stand upright and not feel like his thoughts would swirl into blackness. He found himself leaning forward, forarms resting in one of the great clawed toes, as he peered into the huge eye before him.

"Youu mustt kisss me and finddd out!"

"Oh. Oh I don't know about this, I don't know about this at all. Me, a Hobbit, kiss you, a dragon?  And what praytell is my guarantee that you'll not just swallow me whole or turn me into a cinder?"  The very thought made Bilbo shiver with dread and he felt his lungs tighten again.

Smaug laid his head down on a pile of gold as he regarded the Hobbit.  "Whyy wouldd I ingest youuu when I have senssssed in youuu what I havvve sensssed in no otherrr being for cennttturies?" The great beast inhaled, and Bilbo swore he could feel the rush of the air around him, even clutched as he was in the great claw.  "alassss....the sspell....prevenntss me fromm sayingg what neeeds saidd.  You mussst disscoverrr it yourselff!"

Bilbo jutted his jaw and squared his shoulders. "You can't trick me!"

"Thisss is nnoo trickk!" The great eye peering at him blinked and the head moved closer.  "Come now, jussst a tiny kissss, on my nnnose shouldd be alll that isss neededd."

"If I don't return to my friends soon, they shall storm this vault with their.."

"Witthh their WHATT, Hobbit? You travelll with Dwarves...13 of themmm. No armmy."

Slipping his hands into his vest pockets yet again, Bilbo cursed silently that Gandalf had discovered The Ring and had taken it from him, for his own protection he was told.  So he had no way out, he had no small magic ring that could make him vanish. And would it have even worked, if indeed the dragon was actually a being under a spell. So it seemed his fate was set.  "Very well then. I must...kiss you.  On the nose.  Well then, you shall have to let me out of your grip and keep you head down so that I can reach...."

In one unnerving movement, Smaug opened his claw and drew the Hobbit so very close to his face that Bilbo could feel the heat of the dragon fire that escaped the great lips.  Both huge amber eyes closed just as Bilbo instinctively held up his arms to protect his head and face from what he feared was an imminent collision between his body and the mammoth snout.  And then Smaug simply stopped moving, he even stopped breathing, just waiting.  Tenatively, Bilbo reached out first one hand and then the other, and he touched the smooth facial scales, and then he leaned forward and kissed the closest glossy scale.

Nothing.  

Bilbo felt himself breathe in once, twice, thrice and then suddenly he found himself tumbling head over heels down a slippery golden slope as a gigantic burst of air rushed first upwards and then outwards from the dragon.  The burst was accompanied by several flashes of lightning, and by what sounded like a banshee's wail.  The great burst then turned into a cyclone, first spiraling outwards and then wooshing inwards. Bilbo let himself keep sliding downwards, because he was very much afraid of getting sucked up by the swirling currents and getting drawn into whatever eddy was atop the mound of gold.  The noise, the swirling in and out of the air, and the lightning continued for long minutes, and then as abruptly as it began, it stopped and then was a deafening stillness.

 


	3. Not Smaug

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Dwarves were worried, Bilbo had been gone so long, and now what sounded like a catastrophy emminating from Erebor's vault!
> 
>  
> 
> * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

The great din resounding from the depths of the vaults woke the Dwarvish party and Gandalf the Grey instantly.  It was on instinct alone that they immediately backed into a circle together, swords drawn, eyes alert, fairly growling in alarm.  Gandalf knew straightaway what they were hearing and where it was coming from. One by one the Dwarves in his company also figured it out and turned to face the mountain.  The Dwarf leader, Thorin, pushed his way through his men and stood beside the wizard.

"What in blue blazes..." he said gruffly, sword still at the ready.

Gandalf let out a laugh and reached for his pipe. "ah....aha...oh I am sure the blazes were not only blue, but also red and yellow and green and orange....possibly also some white.  Ahh, and there is a great cloud of dust and other debris.  Mmm, hmmm, yes now we wait just a little longer."

"Why wait?" Kili, the youngest of the Dwarf party interrupted.

"Must we wait?" interjected Kili, his older brother.

"Master Boggins might be in need of some help!" Kili was already unsheathing his sword.  "We should go see!"

"What if he's hurt?" Fili added.

"Or buried in gold!" Bifur chimed in.  "He'll need our help then for certain!"

"QUIET!" Thorin glared at his nephews, Kili and Fili, and shook his head sharply at Bifur.  "We go in only if Gandalf says we are able.  What if that dust is poisonous?"

Gandalf's eyes never left the mountain as he lit and puffed at his pipe.  "No, no, not poisonous at all. Dusty dust, nothing more.  Might Master Bilbo need some help? Well, yes, I suppose so.  If you go in, remember to trust your eyes."

 

The rush of silence was as deafeing as th noise had been, or was he slightly deafened? Bilbo wasn't sure, but he knew one thing--nothing at all was moving.  It had seemed for a few moments that everything in the vault was moving, first up and then down and then outwards. Now...nothing was moving, but it all seemed to be just as it had been before the...what was that...an explosion?  He sat up cautiously, and heaved a silent sigh of relief because he could hear the tinkling of gold coins as his hands and legs displaced them.  He wasn't deafened, it truly was as silent as a tomb in the enormous vault.

Slowly Bilbo got to his hands and knees.  Smaug.  Where was Smaug?  What had just happened?  He had kissed that one scale and nothing happened, then everything happened!  So where was Smaug now?  Had that cacaphony killed the dragon, was that what he had been witness to?  The only way he was going to find out, he decided was to climb the dune of gold in front of him, and see what he could see.  Staying on his hands and knees, he clambered upwards until he reached the summit and found...

A man.  Slender, pale as the moon, raven haired, cupid's bow lips...and naked.  Bilbo's breath caught in his throat-was the man alive?  And where did he come from?  Yes, he was breathing and his eyelids were fluttering a bit now.  He was murmuring something.  Bilbo, still on his hands and knees, bite his lip and edged closer to the prone man.  What were those marks on his chest and legs. Wait, the marks were fading!  They seemed to be shaped just like the scales of...of a dragon!!  As Bilbo drew closer, the man's eyes snapped open.  A gasp escaped the Hobbit's lips--the eyes were amber and the man was obviously staring without seeing anything.  Then as Bilbo watched, the amber color faded and was replaced by irises that very nearly carried every color of the rainbow--green, blue, gold and silver.  The man blinked a few times, and his eyes gained their focus for he then turned his gaze to Bilbo.  His lips moved, though Bilbo couldn't hear any sound, so he moved closer still.  "Thank you, my Hobbit" the pale man said, "Thank you!"

"What? Who are you thanking??" Bilbo looked most puzzled as he gazed at the man's face.  He was oddly beautiful, but seemed so fragile that Bilbo actually wondered if he would live from breath to breath.

 "I am thanking you, my little Hobbit, for you released me." A wane smile crossed the delicate features.  "I am...no, I was Smaug."

Bilbo gasped and backed up, staring at the man. "Oh my stars in the heavens, that's what you meant? That... that if I gave Smaug a kiss, you might be released from that spell?" He giggled. "It actually worked???"

"So it would seem, yes," and the man closed his eyes again.

"I must get you out of here! Can you stand?"

"BILBO!!!!!!!!!!!"  A loud shout cut through the air, coming from one of the vault entrances high above. "BILBO!! WHERE ARE YOU??"

"KILI!! DOWN HERE!! I NEED YOUR HELP!!"

Bilbo heard much clattering and clambering as a number of the Dwarves came rushing into the vault and descended the rock stairs.  "KEEP YELLING, MASTER BOGGINS, SO WE CAN FIND YOU!!"

Slipping off his coat and laying it over the naked form in front of him, Bilbo stood up and started a steady stream of chatter to lead his would-be rescuers to the golden dune he was perched on.  Kili got to the top first and turned to help Fili and Bifur before he turned his attention to the Hobbit and what it was that was holding the Hobbit's attention.

"Master Boggins...where did he come from, and why aren't we hiding from Smaug the Terrible?"

"Aye," said Bifur, "Certain death on wings, instant searing pain and..." He stopped when he noticed Bilbo was pointing to the prone man at his feet. "What? Why're ya pointing at him, lad?"

"This...man," Bilbo waved his hand at the prone form, "was Smaug, he was the dragon. Was.  The dragon."

Fili looked at his fellow Dwarves, and then at the serious face of the Hobbit. "You're serious, arencha? That is... or WAS Smaug??"

"Yes, it is...errr...was!"  Bilbo stood to face the three Dwarves, fisted hands on his hips, a very serious set to his face. "He chased me for a bit, he kept talking to me. I tried to hide and wait him out, but he found me. Again.  And he trapped me with his...err...claws, to talk to me." Even the memory of it made him a bit weak in the knees.  "Finally he said he needed to ask a small favor of me, that the dragon form wasn't his true form." The three Dwarves were alternatingly staring at Bilbo as he spoke, and staring at the pale man laying among the gold coins.  "He said...that...I needed to kiss him."

"He what?

"Are you crazy?"

"Daft, just daft!"

Bilbo felt his face go pink at their utterances.  "Just one small kiss, on his face! I barely touched him! And then...all of THAT, that noise and the flashes and explosions and then," again he waved his had towards the man, "and then here he was, just laying here, and I could see..."

"No doubt," Gandalf was suddenly among them, peering at the strange man, "No doubt, Bilbo Baggins, you saw the change  become complete. I still see a stray lingering of scales here and there, but, he IS harmless.  We need to get him outside, into the sunshine and fresh air. He needs food, water, he needs to be bathed, and he'll need warmth.  Smaug the Terrible is no more, Erebor shall be returned to her people!"

 


	4. The Blue Mage

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Of Thorin and Mages and Hobbits. The tale unfolds...
> 
> * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Thorin Oakenshield sat staring at the semi-conscious man that Bilbo and Kili were tending to.  The man ate a few bites of food and had managed a couple of sips of water, but it seemed to make him choke.  At Gandalf's request, they had moved the man closer to the campfire, and that being done, the wizard had pulled out a small pouch and sprinkled some of its contents into the flames.  Seeing the wisps of smoke seek out the stranger, Gandalf had nodded and returned to his spot by the Dwarf prince.

"So he has been in dragon for...60 or 70 years?" Thorin hazarded a guess.

"Oh my dear boy, no! No, more like....now let me think...the house of Kanann fell...umm yes, and then the house of Cumbria took over...well, more like in dragon form for 300 years!"  The wizard looked pleased with his ciphering and utterances of names foreign to Thorin's ears. "Yes, 300 years, I do believe, give or take a few decades."

Thorin leveled his gaze on the wizard for a few moments, and then back to the sleeping form of the supposed mage.  "How can that be? How can he still be alive?"

"A spell was cast on him, a very powerful spell, possibly from the Dark Lord himself." A couple of puffs escaped Gandalf's long pipe. "Now as long as he breathes in the vapors from the fire, I think we will see an improvement in him by morning.  Not well enough to travel, just yet, Thorin, but soon!" The wizard had seen the expression on the Dwarf prince's face.  "Besides.....Erebor..." He gestured towards the lone peak not far from them.

A grim smile lit up the Dwarf's handsome face. "Aye, and taken without a real battle. Should that be taken as a sign?"

Gandalf sat lost in thought for several minutes, puffing on hs pipe, and seemingly lost in thought just staring into the flames of the campfire.  Just when Thorin was about to ask his question again, the aged wizard stirred and dumped his pipe.  As he refilled it, he cleared his throat and turned to study the Dwarf and each of the companions in turn.  "I am at present unable to answer that, only you can, Thorin, son of Thrain.  You have all of the elements that were needed," he waved his hands to encompass the 14 of them, "in order to retake what was and is rightfully yours.  You never had the numbers for a real battle. Never.  But a sign..." Again his eyes sought out the sleeping form of the man who was once trapped in the body and being of the dragon Smaug.  "My friend, if you want a sign, look no further than the mage who is now among us."

"A mage. How is that different from a wizard then?"

Gandalf let out a small, amused sound as he lit his fresh pipe with a flame from his index finger.  "Mages are curious beings, or maybe I should say WERE curious beings.  I am not certain too many of them exist, not anymore. Theirs is...or was...a much more spontaneous, intuitive magic, and pure magic it was too. No need for powders and potions and the lot. Why, in their hayday, I'm told, their very thoughts could be made to happen."

A fierce frown crossed Thorin's features.  "Then how is this one going to be safe to be around, to have around?  What would prevent him from..."

"He is weak, he is ill, and do understand that mage's never used their powers for evil."  The wizard squinted at the sleeping man as if seeing him for the first time.  "Benedict," he murmured, as if relishing the name.

"What say you?"

"Why yes, I do believe him to be the Blue Mage....Benedict. Came from a very good family, the mage bloodline ran deep and true in them.  From the East, beyond the land of the Elves..." Gandalf's words and thoughts trailed off as he continued to stare.  "Hopefully in the morning he will be able to talk to us."

 

Bilbo's eyes snapped open at the first light of dawn.  The fire had never burned down all night, although he was uncertain if someone had been adding wood when he slept, or if it had to do with whatever Gandalf had sprinkled over it.  His stomach rumbled, reminding him that he had barely touched his own dinner, so concerned had he been for the pale, weak man they had retrieved from the vaults of Erebor. The man who had been the great fire-breather Smaug. Smaug who had taunted him and teased him, and finally asked just a small favor of him. What was it he had said?  Though many might come to me and all would fear me, my heart would know the truth.  What did that even mean?  He sat up and sought out the form of the man, bundled under numerous blankets, facing the campfire, in fact quite close to it, but looking so peaceful in his repose. Bilbo studied him as best he could by the firelight.  He and Kili had warmed water and had bathed him carefully. He could still see the faint outline of a few scales on the left side of his neck, almost like the inkings he had once seen on some travelers, only much more faint and delicate.  The man's hair was a tumble of dark curls framing his white face, the contrast very sharp.  Most fascinating to Bilbo were the almost almond shaped eyes of many colors, and he found himself hoping he'd have the chance to study them up close again during the day.

A strong poke to his back made Bilbo grunt in surprise. "Mr. Boggins! Oh good, you're awake too!"  Kili, who had been sleeping beside him, sat up and leaned over his shoulder in order to look at his face.  " Let's get some food going! I'm famished!"

"Kili! You gave me a start!" He jumped up and started to roll up his blankets. "Very well, the fire is still good and hot, so why don't you get some water going for coffee.  I'll make some biscuits, we still have some eggs too. Our...ummm...new friend needs to eat something.  Maybe we can get him to eat more soup."

"Why are we whispering, Mr. Boggins?" Kili poked him in the arm, his eyes all a-glitter with mirth.

"Oh I don't know, maybe because everyone else seems to still be asleep?"  Bilbo's eyes wandered again to the sleeping stranger, only he wasn't asleep! His eyes were open and he was staring at Bilbo, and he seemed to be smiling a bit.  "Oh there, now see what you've done? Gandalf said he needs to sleep, you woke him up!"

A soft moan escaped the stranger's lips as he struggled to sit up. His borrowed clothes were too large for him, which made him look all the more frail as they hung on his boney frame.  He gathered the blankets back around his shoulders and leaned towards the fire.  At once, Gandalf was at his side, again sprinkling something into the flames. He spoke quietly to the stranger for a few minutes, then straightened and nodded towards Bilbo who was making a fresh pan of biscuits.  "Bilbo, have we any fresh water that isn't cold out of the spring?  Benedict...this is Benedict, by the way... needs a drink.  Oh that's good of you, thank you!"  The wizard accepted a mug of water from the Hobbit, who smiled nervously down at the pallid stranger.  A weak smile was his reward and for some reason he felt his heart skip a beat.

Benedict? Bilbo tossed the name about in his mind. What a strong and noble name. Somehow it suited the man--his exotic features, his raven hair, his strange eyes. Carefully he scooped some hot soup out of the kettle by the fire and into a bowl. He added a spoon, picked out a fresh biscuit and then carried it over to offer it to Benedict. Benedict. The more he said the name, the more he liked how it sounded, and for some reason, the more he wished to use it out loud himself.  He strode over to the man and dropped down beside him, offering hm the bowl and biscuit.  "Here you are, Benedict, " Oh yes, he did like how that name felt on his tongue, "It's good, I hope you can eat more today."

Benedict smiled wanly as he accepted the food and sniffed it.  "I am quite hungry this morning, thank you, Master Bilbo."  The oddly colored eyes gazed unblinkingly at the Hobbit, who actually flushed a bit under their scrutiny.  "Gandalf says I must try to eat...that I must remember how to eat, as a man would, not as a....dragon."  Bilbo found himself listening in fascination, for the man's voice was rich and tonal, almost a baritone which seemed so out of place coming from such a pale, skinny body.

"I can't even imagine not knowing HOW to eat," Kili flounced over and joined them, and for once Bilbo found his youthful exuberance to be just this side of annoying.  He had found Benedict, so he felt somewhat possessive.

 Benedict looked down at the bowl and pursed his lips as he considered the contents.  Then he looked up at the youthful Dwarf and the Hobbit, and for a moment his eyes seemed to be wild whorls of colors before settling into a pattern of blues and greens with flecks of....yes...gold.  "I suppose that does seem odd, Master...uhhh..."

"Kili! At your service!"  Came the response said with a hugely delighted grin.

"Master Kili, you see I have not been in this form for a good 300 years, or so Gandlaf has informed me.  I fear today I shall spend the time eating, drinking and trying to walk as a man should walk." He took a small bite of the soup and chewed it carefully before he swallowed.  "Oh this is so delicious, yes, I think perhaps I can eat this." He smiled at Bilbo. "Did you make this? I know I saw you make the biscuits this morning."

Bilbo flushed to the roots of his hair, he was so pleased.  "I did help make the soup, last night, I help Dori when I can."  He watched Benedict in his attempt to conquer the biscuit. "Let me help you, I could crumble it into the soup."

"Yes, that would help, thank you, Master Bilbo."  The taller man went pale and for an instant Bilbo thought he might faint.  "Sorry, so so sorry, I wonder if you and Kili could help me move over near that rock so I can lean back on it?"

Thorin watched the scene unfold from his perch on a log on the other side of the fire.  Gandalf had been hovering nearby, trying to appear as if he weren't actually hovering and watching with great concern.  The Dwarf prince could see the concern shooting out of Gandalf's eyes, and he saw how knitted the ancient forehead was.  "Wizard," he said softly, "what pains you?"

For a few moments Gandalf's eyes remained on the figures of Kili and Bilbo as they helped Benedict to his feet and as he took a few halting steps before they lowered him onto some blankets, positioned so that he could lean against a large rock for support.  "What pains me, my friend, is that Benedict, weak as he is, must become a vital part of our company...if you are to rightfully reclaim Erebor!"

 

 


	5. In Which Thorin Grumbles

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thorin grumbles, just because sometimes that's all a Dwarf prince can do!
> 
>  
> 
> * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

The piece of wood in his hands was supposed to be the beginnings of a whistle, instead he found that he had been mindlessly whittling away at it until it was possibly the size of a pencil. A small pencil.  Thorin made an exasperated sound and tossed the maimed piece of branch into the fire.  He didn't like being inactive, but since the newcomer, Benedict the Blue Mage (Mage indeed, he snorted) was still quite weak, the day dribbled into afternoon, and he and his small company of Dwaves entertained themselves as best they could.  Most of them were trying to outdo each other in story-telling, which was the source of great mirth and much leg slapping.  Dori had drafted Ori to help him fix what he kept promising would a grand feast, so the two of them were cleaning various fowl and vegetation and stuffing them into pots that then got buried into a second firepit and covered with the hottest coals out of Gandalf's magical fire.  But of all of the activities going on, it was seeing Gandalf the Grey and The Blue Mage off to one side, head to head, talking so very quietly, that annoyed him the most.  While it did seem that Benedict was growing stronger by the hour, Thorin had yet to see him do any magic, and after all, Gandalf had been the one who said that a mage's powers were different, stronger, more spontaneous.  And if anyone, even Bilbo, happened to walk past them, they would stop talking and look at the intruder until he was well out of earshot.  That just didn't sit well, and by the very winds of the northern mountains, he had half a mind to go right over there and...

"Thorin!"  As if reading his mind, Gandalf had turned squarely towards him, and had gestured at him with his pipe.  "Come, come!  I know you have questions for our mage here, so come settle your mind!"

Thorin grunted as he stood, glad at least for the chance to talk to the stranger, even if it was in the presence of Gandalf.  Benedict was sitting on the rock that he had earlier been leaning against, and his oddly colored eyes never left Thorin's face while the Dwarf proudly advanced to join him.  "Thorin, " he said in his deep voice, "I am so honored to meet you."

This time the grunt left his lips, as Thorin glanced at the nodding Gandalf who was obviously not going to leave the two of them alone. "By my rights, I do not know if I should greet you as a friend or as a foe. You....KILLED...many of my people, you killed my grandfather, you took Erebor..."

Gandalf laid a hand on Thorin's muscular forearm. "Thorin, please.  Blaming Benedict would be alot like blaming that stream over there for causing a flood.  He was not exactly...BENEDICT....when all of that was happening."

"How so?" Thorin demanded, anger creeping into his tone. "How so, care to explain this to me? Was he not the dragon we knew as Smaug? Does he not still bear some of the markings of scales?"

Benedict lowered his head and spoke mostly to himself. "How can I pay restitution? Gandalf?  I am lost, please help me."  His hand went automatically to the side of his neck where the remnants of what looked like dragon scales remained.  Again when he looked up at the other two men, his eyes seemed to be a wild cacophony of colors before settling into a pattern of greens, blues, and golds.  "Was I not that dragon as Prince Thorin says I was and yet why is it that I can barely recall what you tell me was 300 years of existence in that vile form?  As the dragon I exhaled fire, did I not?"

"Benedict," Gandalf was keeping a wary eye on the sturdy Dwarf beside him while he addressed the mage. "Only you can know the true answer.  You said a great evil did this to you. Was it the Dark Lord? Or was it some being doing his bidding?  What do you see? What can you remember?"

"I wish I could answer readily, but I cannot!"  The mage lifted his hands and spread them out, his eyes were studying them. "I barely know this to be my true self, and yet you ask me for answers that are buried..."

Thorin let out a disgusted sound. "Then UNbury them, oh great mage, if indeed that is who you are!"  He turned on his heel to leave, but Gandalf caught his arm.  "Mages and wizards....if anyone had told me before this time that I would be traveling with such unworthy companions, I would have laughed heartily at them!  For all we know, this...man...killed Smaug and tricked Bilbo with some sort of raucous magic trick!"

Gandalf released his grip on Thorin's arm, but the Dwarf made no move to storm off as he had originally intended.  "I know what most Dwarves think of us wizards, but what experience have you amongst mages, what do you have to draw on that makes you so untrusting and so bold in your words and judgements?"  His dark eyes never left Thorin's face all the while his hands were busy emptying, cleaning and refilling his pipe.  Very deliberately he held up his right hand and flicked his index finger so that a small flame danced on its tip, and he lit his pipe, his eyes still on the Dwarf.  "Do you think what I just did was magic?  To some it is, to others...to the Mages of Old, that is something a newborn can do.  I cannot and will not tell you what to be thinking of either one of us, Thorin Oakenshield, but I will not stand for you to be rude and impatient with a man who dwelt in dragon form for three centuries!"  For dramtic effect, Gandalf made his voice rise like the wind as he spoke the last sentence, ending with booming resonance at the last word.  "Now take your leave while I attend to Benedict.  We stay here until he remembers and can answer my questions!"

"In that case, Wizard, I intend to take my men into The Mountain, to assess any damage...he...did!"  With that Thorin turned and strode off.

"As you wish, Thorin, as you wish. Just know we set not one foot away from here until the Mage can give us the clues we need!"  Gandalf took several large puffs on his pipe and blew the smoke into circles that followed the retreating Dwarf. "Now then, Benedict, let us go sit by the fire.  By my reckoning it will soon be time to eat, then a good sleep...and in the morning perhaps you'll see the world all set in its rightful place."

 


	6. Seeing Clearly

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Mage remembers. He may wish that he hadn't!
> 
> * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

He was running. He was running harder and faster than he had ever run before in his life.  For some reason, it didn't seem as though he was covering much ground, despite the fact that he had crossed the courtyard, sprinted across the drawbridge and was halfway to the orchards before any of the guards could react.  Yes, the guards, they would be calling out the alarm and those not on duty would come spilling out of the garrison with their weapons drawn.  They would swarm the courtyard, and some of them would be ordered to follow him and give him protection, if need be to lay down their lives for him.  Yes, any moment now, and then he could stop running. His lungs were bursting, his legs were pumping painfully, his ribs felt like a firey cage under his skin and he could not catch his breath, not at all. He couldn't gulp in larger lungfuls of air no matter how hard he tried, but he could not stop running.  If he stopped, he would surely die, he knew that without even looking back.  Was he really only to the first edge of the orchard? He'd been running for so long, and he could hear his father's anguished scream, telling him to take flight, leave, run as fast as he could, leave that place, get out of the castle, get out and don't look back at the horror that was upon them.  He was running, he was running so hard and he was trying, trying desparately to run even faster.

The morning had dawned brightly, though with the last bit of frost from a long winter lingering under the rising sun.  The air smelled of spring, the birds were back in the trees singing of spring, and the first buds and blades were straining through the dirt to meet the spring.  With winter's grip all but gone, many were turning their eager attentions to the first preparations for the coming May Dance, the first activity to greet the warm weather and to herald the arrival of the planting season.  He knew his mother and his older sister would be starting to make their lists, as they always did, and to give orders, as they always did, as though no one had ever hosted such a grand event.  He stayed out of their way, for when women have theirs minds set on just the right decorations being made by just the right tinkers to be finished at just the right time, no man in his right and proper mind would want to get in their sights!  Besides, this was the launching of the fleet, the official opening of the river shipping season, and he much preferred accompanying his father to oversee that project.  Life was truly ticking along to its own schedule, unfailing in its predicability but so comforting for that very reason.  Life was secure, he was always in the protective safety of this realm and these people.  The lands were rich and fertile, the population was happy, and soon summer wouild burst on the scene and life would just go on as it always did, placidly but with a humming purpose to make people joyful.

It was at breakfast that the first inkling of trouble cropped up.  When the platter of eggs was brought from the kitchen, he was the first to notice the stink.  The server had been the second to notice, and had hesitated before placing the platter on the table.  One hand on the handle to lift the cover, but not necessary, for a fowled and runny black substance began oozing from underneath the shiny dome.  He and his father had glanced at each other, then his father had beckoned for the server to step back as he himself moved to lift the cover.  As he did so, he was began to intone some old blessing, and told the server to ask the ladies to wait before entering the room.  He lifted the cover and they stared at the fried eggs, or what had at one time been fried eggs, for they were now green with mold and their yolks were blackened masses of pus.  Slamming the cover back down, his father had turned to him, and had spoken very firmly and quietly to him.  Not to alarm the women, do not alarm the women, get out of the castle, run to the old caves, use the weapons there if need be, hide out, just go, just go, run and be safe.  Time ran out however, while his father was speaking, for above them they could hear a turret being destroyed by something large; no, whatever it was, it was massive. Massive and airborne. Massive and airborne and landing on the castle amdist shrieks and wails of its own making.  Few in the castle knew what was happening and had not yet begun their own litany of screaming out their fear.  No, just he and his father had any idea of what was upon them, and even then he had only a small understanding, knowing only the tales he had been told as a child.  Always the tales, always the what ifs, always the be prepareds, always the games that he must now draw out of his childhood memories and into his adult mind as he stood frozen, listening to the wailing and hearing the mighty crashes of the stone and mortar of the castle as it was being destroyed.  It slowly registered in the depths of his brain that the mighty structure was trembling and that some of the walls seemed to be cracking.  Whatever had landed and destroyed a turret might be powerful enough to bring down the castle, and it was finally that thought that brought him back to his senses. As he spun around to leave, he grabbed at his father's arm, intent to drag him along and get him out of harm's way.  Instead he grasped at thin air, and turning his head, he saw his father dash out of the dining room, screaming in anguish for him to flee, and calling out for his wife and daughter.

He was running.  He was running harder and faster than he had ever run in his life.  His mind had stopped trying to register the pain his body was feeling, and as a result he felt that maybe he could indeed run even faster. But not on the lane, no the lane through the orchard would be an easy target from above. It would be expected that he would be on the lane.  Somewhere in the depths of his mind he dredged up an old game he used to play with some of the guards.  Yes, that was it, run into the trees, try to stay close to their trunks, let the tree protect him, but what protection could they give when they had barely any leaf buds on them?  The sun was bright, but there was no shade, only the craggy outlines of branches. A shadow passed by his right shoulder and in that instant he froze, throwing himself against the trunk of an apple tree.  The shadow was heading towards the river, straight towards the piers and the freshly painted boats awaiting launching day.  Two more rows and then a sharp right, follow in the irrigation ditches until they meet and course off-center and follow the minor ditch down, down to the old caves.  He strained to hear if any of the guards were following him, as that had always been the plan. Get out of the castle, get to the orchard, to the ditches, the guards would find him and protect him.  Go now, the shadow wasn't even in sight!  Not that he saw, anyway.

Crouching low and running as best he could, he glanced up again and saw the disguised entrance to the first old cave.  This would be the best one to use, it had the best weapons, and it had supplies so that he could go into hiding.  He thought he'd heard the guards coming his way, but then the sound of them running fell silent.  Perhaps they thought they were ahead of him, maybe they didn't know he had been with his father at the first attack.  And where was his father, his mother, his sister?  He sought them with his mind and could feel only confusion and chaos. Once in the cave, he told himself, he would have time to properly feel for them and find out where they were hiding.  Odd too, he couldn't feel any of the guards, not the way he usually felt them. Instead he felt quite alone.  No, he thought, it's only the confusion, it's only because I have been running so hard. Let me catch my breath, let me take a moment here at the cave entrance...

And that is when the searing pain tore through him, feeling as though his bones were being ripped from his muscles, which were being ripped from his flesh.  His very core screamed in agony, and the black threatened to rise up and claim his mind.  Another wave of sheer pain, this time his joints all feeling as though they were being ripped apart, and he could no longer stand, instead feeling like a puddle of ooze at the cave entrance. There was something else, there was some sound, there was noise, there was screaming, or was that him?  No, there was something else, something was talking to him?  Something? Someone?  He had a crackling noise, it was too close, it was far to close, and another wave of agony tore his stomach and intestines out of his body to join his bones and muscles, and then the crackling sound started again in earnest.  Now above the crackling he could make out something else.  Laughter.  A voice, and more laughter.  Many would come, all would fear, many would come, all would fear. And his world collapsed in searing heat.


	7. What the Dawning Brings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Mage recalls. Is that good or bad?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This story is taking on a life of its own so I am asking you to abandon all notions of the movies about The Hobbit. What I am incorporating is some of my own mythology, which happens to stem from the Terry Brooks novel The Sword of Shanarra. It was the first epic fantasy I ever read and it made such an impression on me that I read all 800 or so pages in less than 2 days. The Dark Lord and the Druids are Shanarra....

Gandalf sat watch most of the night, not really thinking, barely paying attention actually, just letting his mind wander of its own accord.  From where he was seated he could keep an eye on the little company of Dwarves, a Hobbit, and a Mage; mostly his eyes stayed on the sleeping form of the weakened Mage.  The man seemed to be making progress, regaining his human strength, eating and drinking normally again, even his mind seemed to be coming into focus better with each passing hour.  His eyes drifted to where Thorin lay, wondering briefly if the Dwarf prince was actually asleep.  The man had thundered at the Mage that afternoon, had shaken the Mage to his very core it seemed, or was it just Benedict's weakened state that had left him trembling and questioning himself.  Not that being a wizard made him any expert on mages. To be honest, he'd had few encounters with them, and those encounters were quite by happenstance and were at best quite haphazard.  The mages dwelled in the land beyond the realms of the Elves and seemed content to keep to themselves.  Plus, he'd been a much younger, much more foolhardy wizard at the time.  But he had his books, and he had the Druids, and they both told him a pure-blood Mage was very powerful in his own right.  So that right, that mindset, was where he needed to guide Benedict, despite his misgivings.  This Mage seemed quite young, had he even finished his training? Maybe the dreaming hour, which should soon be upon him, by the passage of the stars, would give them all some answers!

Abruptly Gandalf sat up, looking around in alarm. Sleep must have overcome him, but what was that noise that had awakend him?  Of course Thorin was already on his feet, hand on his sword handle, when Gandalf awoke.  Then as one, they honed in on where the noise was coming from--it was a keening cry from the slumbering mage, and he seemed to be caught up in some sort of fit.  Moving nimbly for a wizard of his years, Gandalf was beside him in seconds, not awakening him, but laying a comforting hand upon a boney shoulder.  He raised a finger to his lips as Thorin approached, cautioning him to remain quiet.  The others were also beginning to stir, disturbed by the sounds the young mage was making, locked in a nightmare.  Bilbo found a mug and brought some water over, Gandalf motioned for him to set it down and then leave them.  For long minutes the mage thrashed and moaned, gasping for air at times, at other times not taking a breath but flailing his arms as if to fight off some invisible force.  It was then that Gandalf noticed that Benedict's eyes were open and staring, the fear plainly visible in them.  The wizard nodded somewhat wearily, satisfied that his words and his feeble attempt at a potion seemed to be working. Best let it play out, let Benedict awaken from it on his own so that it would remain sharp in his memory, so that he could answer his own questions, as well as those that Gandalf himself had.

Slowly Benedict's terrors quieted and then ceased altogether. His breathing returned to normal and his eyes drowsily shut again. He seemed to sleep peacefully for a few minutes, and then quite suddenly he sat up, throwing off the blankets that had been covering him.  "Where is it? Where did it go?" he asked no one in particular, his eyes wildly scanning the sky and then the horizon.  "Gandalf...I saw it...I saw that...thing!"

"I think you were remembering, it's what you needed to do." The wizard shoved the mug of water towards the trembling mage using his walking staff.  "Drink, try to calm yourself. Yes, that's good, that's good.  Now I would say sleep some more if you are able. We can talk later."

"NO!" Benedict's eyes widened. "No, I do not think I have another wink of sleep in my head.  My dream was soooo real! I could feel it!"

"That I do not doubt.  Your mind brought back to you the events of that day when you were attacked. And turned!"  Gandalf lowered himself onto a large fallen tree trunk and patted a spot near himself with a gnarled hand.  "Come, sit with me; tell me what you can.  If you do not speak of it now, you may well lose it and be unable to recall any of it in the morning's light."

Looking as though he would rather be doing anything in the world other than retelling his nightmare, Benedict sighed deeply and clambered to his feet.  He stretched, then spotted the mug of water and drank from it gustily.  Then he grabbed up the quilt he had been sleeping in and wrapped it around his lean frame as he joined the wizard.  "I'm not sure where to start, it's all swirling in my head, it all wants out at once!" He fell silent for a moment, his eyes scanning back and forth as if he was reading from a page.  "I suppose from the start because...if it truly has been as long as you say then...there may be no one who remembers my family!  I come from a line of mages who dwelled in the eastern lands beyond the Elven lands.  We called it Myrewicke, outsiders merely called it Eastwicke.  Neutrality was our chosen stance. We were somewhat isolated from the land of Men, most of Middle Earth ignored us, or maybe simply forgot we existed. We were....we were Guardians."

"Guardians?"  Gandalf let out a huge puff of smoke from his pipe.  "Indeed, not forgotten, my boy, not by the wizards. A thankless job, that!"

Thorin, who of the company had come the closest to listen, let out a snort.  "Guardians of what exactly?"

"Prince Thorin, if you do not know of my land then you do not know that our northern border rests along the line of the Northland, the province of the Dark Lord."  His eyes hardened and he held up a boney hand to stop Thorin from interjecting any other comments.  "The Dark Lord has been all but forgotten. Even in the time of my family and I, he was a distant tale of war and valor, of death and of fear.  As a Mage, I was to be groomed to continue the work and the vigilence of my forefathers, to assure that the Dark Lord remained only a distant memory...a...a...tale whispered to children to frighten them into behaving."

Bilbo, who was quietly passing out biscuits for everyone to consume, found himself holding his breath as he listened to the pale man's words.  "He's right! My gran-gran used to tell us wild stories at summer camp fires, and I'm sure I'm not the only on who used to want a lantern in my room after hearing such things!"

"Don't fret!" Kili burst in. "We'll protect you, Master Boggins!" He elbowed Fili who nodded rapidly in agreement.

"Silence!" Gandalf boomed. "Let him continue his tale while he remembers his dream!"

"It was spring, a cold spring. I can remember the trees were late in leafing up.  It was to be an ordinary day, my brother and I would have been preparing to have lessons after morning meal, my sister would have been with my mother, learning her lessons...but..." His eyes seemed t glaze over momentarily as he seememd to look inward, as though watching the scene unfold. "But something wasn't right about it.  The air was so heavy, and the eggs....they were ruined...rotten!  After that it all happened at once.  My father turned to me, I was the youngest but I was also the most powerful, and he told me to run. I just remember him telling me to run out of there and not look back.  We had sometimes spoken of what to do IF, and IF arrived that day."  Again Benedict seemed to look inward; he shivered, covered his ears and rocked back and forth gently for a few heartbeats before he picked up the tale again.

"I ran as fast as I could.  But I could hear something massive above the castle, hitting the castle, hitting a turret, and I could hear the stone blocks falling and I could hear something ripping at the walls.  It was so loud," he said more to himself than for the others to hear. Then as if remembering he was telling his tale to others, he went on. "Sorry...yes, anyway, I ran through the courtyard and the soldiers were just coming out of the barracks, I don't know if any of them saw me or not.  There were certain ones who knew what they were supposed to do IF this ever came to be, but with the castle being attacked, being torn apart as it seemed, I don't think they remembered.  There was a cave I was supposed to go to, so I ended up going through the orchard but there were no leaves to hide me.  The branches were bare and I must have been easy to spot because whatever it was flew over me, heading towards the river, like I was doing, but I didn't see it circle back so I thought I was safe.  I put tendrils out, trying to find my parents, the guards, anyone but...I couldn't feel them, I was alone.  The thing....it was already in the cave, waiting for me. I only caught a glimpse of it--it was huge, it was blood red and black, and it had black eyes.  And that was my last tangible human thought."

The whole of the company was listening to him raptly, barely daring to breath.  As he paused to once again sip from the tankard of water, Kili pressed closer and asked what was on everyone's mind.  "What was it?  What was waiting for you?"

Benedict locked the young Dwarf's dark eyes with his pale blue ones. "It was a firedrake.  It was a huge firedrake, the likes of which you cannot imagine.  It was ebony black, with whorls of red and yellow on its sides, and a wingspan twice the width of any castle's courtyard, and tall, taller than a tower!"

"Zmiy..." whispered Gandalf.  "From your description, and what it was able to do to you, it was Zmiy...but...but how could that be?  She was locked away when the Dark Lord was banished, sealed into a pit beneath a moutain."

Thorin and the others shared looks of alarm and concern as Gandalf sat murmuring to himself. He would glance at the Mage and then around at the faces circling the fire, and then he would murmur some more.  It was Thorin who finally broke the uneasy silence.

"How can this be, Wizard?  Tell us what you know of this Dark Lord and this firedrake!  If they have been sealed away then..."

Gandalf raised a hand and glared at the Dwarf prince.  "I am not the one telling this tale, nor am I the one who saw and encountered this drake.  I listen along with all of you right now. Benedict, go on if you will."

The Mage had taken on the appearance of someone who was watching events unfurl within his own mind.  He was silent for long moments until at last he shook his head.  "What happened next is so difficult to explain in actual words.  I did not see so much as feel, and it felt a though I had walked into a solid wall of pure flame.  The pain was so vast I thought I would surely explode, but it just went on...I don't even know for how long.  And I could hear the firedrake in my head, inside my own thoughts, taunting me, laughing at me, and speaking but...what it said I cannot actually articulate.  When the agony finally stopped..." Benedict pressed his lips together and looked at his hands as they lay in his lap, "When the agony stopped I was not human.  It took me a while to figure out that I was also a drake, smaller than..Zmiy did you call it?  And my human thoughts were fading rapidly.  And then..I don't know...it was like living in a kalideoscope--what I did, how I lived, how I survived.  Someone would have to tell me, because I saw it all so...strangely, as it through a magnifying glass made of many prisms..."

"I can tell you what you did, " bristled Thorin, rising to his feet, ignoring his comrades who were trying to get him to sit down again.  "You destroyed Dale, you killed many innocent people, and then you invaded Erebor and drove us out!"

Thorin's words had their desired effect, and Benedict sat shivering in the quilt, unable to meet his eyes or the eyes of any of the other Dwarves.  Until now, Bilbo had been sitting quietly off to one side, his eyes riveted on the Mage as he spoke.  Seeing him cower again at Thorin's words were more than he could bare. He sprang to his feet and rushed to Benedict's side, looking first at the mage and then to Gandalf, as if seeking some sort of answer to an unspoken question.  "But wait, Thorin," The Hobbit faced the Dwarf as he spoke. "He said...Benedict said he didn't have any human thoughts any longer.  How can you blame him? I mean, yes it was him but yet it was not him. Was it NOT, Gandalf?"

"That is a fine question for us to debate, my Hobbit friend," Gandalf spoke up firmly. "But not to debate now. My concerns lie not with what Benedict may have done in his drake form, but with the cause of him being put in that form.  Zmiy...my concern is that Zmiy seems to have been directed at him, to find him, and more importantly who controlled her, to send her to seek him out.  Only the Dark Lord could control that firedrake, if the ancient tales that are surfacing in my ancient mind are the right ones. Benedict," Gandalf's sudden attentions made the Mage startle out of his reverie. "What of your father and your brother?"

Benedict shook his head slowly, a frown creasing his forehead. "I know not. I have only impressions, memories maybe but not my own, of the castle being reduced to piles of rubble...and....bodies, so many bodies ...scattered in the rubble."

"What of this...this Dark Lord you speak of?" Thorin spit out the words.  "What is that? Where is that?"

Gandalf murmured something indistinguishable and puffed on his pipe, glancing sideways at the Mage as he did so.  "Between us we might be able to piece together an explanation.  The Dark Lord was a power to be dealt with long ago, young Thorin, back when the Druids ruled most of the Lands not belonging to the Elves. Druids, Humans, Dwarves, and Elves were all allied at one time.  They had to be, to fight this crawling evil that kept pushing in from the North."

"And our role as Guardians was to prevent anyone from venturing in to those Northlands. Oh..." The Mage's eyes widened and he clasped his hands in front of his mouth. "Oh, now something makes sense. My father would sometimes come back from short trips alone, and he would say to my brother and I 'it is at best an uneasy peace, an uneasy rest, never let your eyes stray too far from the North.' " He hesitated, seeming to watch something in his mind's eye, then he went on. "I never met any of them, my father never called me nor my brother in but he would meet with small groups of men, only they weren't always Men...I think I recall seeing Dwarves and Elves.  They would meet in his study, and I do remember seeing a table with old maps but he kept us away from them, he always told us they were too delicate for us to touch. How I wish I knew what those maps were!"

"Guardians!" Thorin fairly spat the word out. "Yet the firedrake under this Dark Lord's control found YOU and turned you into a drake as well?  Sounds to me as if someone managed to get into that North Land and find this Dark Lord and maybe set him free."

Benedict glared at the Dwarf. "No! If The DarkLord was free, if he was freed back then, you would know it! These lands would be crawling with his kindreds, I do know that much!  You would see their mark on the land, the death, the fields laid bare and barren, the forests naked of leaves."

Thorin glowered menacingly at the scrawny Mage, and then turned that glower on to Gandalf. "So, what say you now?  Does he stay with us?  Is it even safe for us to  have him here? How do we know that there isn't still some spell on him, that he won't turn on us if we venture back in to claim Erebor?"

"All good questions, Thorin, and all only time can answer I'm afraid.  I also fear that Erebor will have to wait. We have another pressing matter to deal with.  Our Mage needs to finish his training.  We must seek out the Druids...and we must make sure the Dark Lord is still sealed away in that mountain!  We must journey to the North Lands!"

 

 

 

 


End file.
